To the w
To the wi
To the win
To the wind
To the windo To the window
To the window
To the wall To the wall
To the sweat dripping down my balls
Lance jerks awake with a loud gasp, chest rising and falling in time with his rapid heart as the lingering vision of his mother fades away against reality. When his surroundings steady within his wavering vision, his heart plummets in his chest. He’s not home. He’s in space, acting as a defender of the universe.
But, he thinks as he presses a shaking palm to his cheek. He can still feel the faint touch of his mother’s gentle hand caressing his burning cheek. There’s a slight tingle, and his lips curl up into a soft smile that contrasts his eyes brimming with tears.
Very slowly, Lance shifts his gaze to the right until his eyes fall onto Keith sitting in a chair placed beside his bed. Lance blinks tiredly, again again, and with each fall and rise of his drooping lids, his surroundings shimmer and sway until they are morphing into a small bedroom holding a twin-size bed and a bunk bed. One glance up, and Lance can make out the glow in the dark star stickers littering his ceiling.
“Estoy en casa,” he rasps out, blood-shot eyes lazily moving about the room.
“Lance, what? Did you just speak Spanish?”
Lance can see that Keith is still there, a sore thumb sticking out in familiar surroundings. He’s not entirely sure why Keith is here, but who cares? He motions weakly with one hand.
“¿No ves, Keith? Estoy en casa.”
Keith’s lips part slightly in silent surprise. His brows come together in a wavering crease of concern as he takes in Lance’s dull, almost lifeless, eyes looking about in a numbing, distant stare. Before he knows what’s happening, he’s standing on shaking legs and stumbling out the door to get help.
The other paladins stare down at Lance with varying looks of concern before Shiro carefully takes a spot on the edge of the bed.
“Lance, buddy? How are you feeling?”
Lance blinks slowly at Shiro’s words, and he shrugs. “No tan bien.”
“See? He’s only speaking Spanish!”
Frowning, Lance turns toward Keith, and he tilts his head slightly in question. But, when a cool hand cups his cheek, he moves along with the gentle guidance until he’s once again facing Shiro.
Shiro can already feel the heat of the fever against his finger tips, but he slides a palm to the brunet’s forehead to confirm the worst. An intense heat coats his palm in an instant, and he pulls his hand away with a low hiss.
“He’s on fire,” he murmurs under his breath, and Lance shakes his head rapidly in reply while wrapping his arms around himself.
“No, tengo frío.”
“What do we do?” Pidge asks, heart sinking in her chest as she watches the scene unfold about her worried eyes.
“We need to get his fever down somehow.” Shiro answers, eyes never leaving the flushed yet worryingly pale face sitting before him.
“I feel like I’ve been run over. Or stabbed. Repeatedly.”
Keith shoots forward in his chair just as Hunk all but dives onto the end of the bed, and Lance jumps in surprise, body going almost rigid, a clear contrast to his racing heart.
“You’re speaking English…” Keith says as he moves his face impossibly close to Lance’s, narrow eyes taking in every single portion of the brunet’s face.
“Yes?” Lance asks, rough voice sliding upwards slightly in pitch.
Hunk is off the bed and out the door in seconds, and Keith and Lance can hear his faint shouts from Lance’s room.